Ripper egt-7

by David L. Golemon

  “We study and release,” both Sarah and Virginia Pollock said at the same time. They knew Niles wouldn’t give anything up until the old king had been documented from head to toe for their records.

  Niles lost his smile when he looked from the enclosure to the face of Jack Collins. He cleared his throat and then his eyes traveled to those of Carl Everett. He patted Jack on the shoulder. “So what brings you down to my territory, Jack?” he asked, knowing full well what was about to happen.

  Jack turned and walked over to the far wall and Europa’s temporary computer terminal.

  “Europa, are you online?” Jack asked, looking at the blank screen that would one day soon hold a talking tour of the vault they were now standing inside.

  “Yes, Colonel Collins.”

  “Please give me a hard-copy printout of document 1877, security Collins, please.”

  Without comment, Europa did as ordered and started printing out the document Collins had been working on since his return to the complex. He waited out the moment in silence and then pulled the single page from the printer. He handed the single paragraph to Niles, who refused to look at it. Instead he nodded at Virginia and she moved out into the rock-lined hallway. Niles followed.

  “Before we see what Jack’s brought us, I want to show you a few more things of recent acquisition,” Niles said as he waited for the three people to catch up with him and Virginia.

  All of the vaults on this level were brand new. Niles walked to a large vault thirty feet away and then slid his ID card down the security lock.

  “I had these flown here from our original complex inside Arlington National Cemetery.” Niles swung open the door and waited for his people to enter.

  Sitting on tables and on the vault’s floor was what remained from the evidence taken in the 1916 raid on Perdition’s Gate.

  “We hope to get some answers here. We’ll start analyzing what we have as soon as our people get in from the CDC in Atlanta.”

  Jack once more tried to hand Niles the sheet of paper Europa had printed out for him. Compton once more stepped out of the vault and waited for the others to follow.

  “I think all of us will get a kick out of this one,” Virginia Pollock offered as Niles opened one last vault at the far end of the level. This vault, being the last on the level, was by far the largest. It rivaled the vault used to house the Ark in size and dimensions.

  Collins shook his head but followed the director and assistant director inside.

  “Wow!” Sarah said as she took in the display inside of the giant new vault. Even Collins and Everett were impressed with what they were looking at.

  “Jack, do you remember when Virginia and I went on vacation at the same time last year?” Niles asked.

  “Yes. Are you telling me you and her are responsible for finding these?” Jack asked, amazed at what he was looking at.

  “Well, no, not exactly, but we wanted to be in on it, and we both knew you wouldn’t let us out of the complex without a security detachment tagging along, so we lied and went on vacation to South Florida. We had to be in on this expedition. After we found them, well, we arranged to have them misplaced, and to tell you the truth, the National Geographic Society who funded the expedition is tossing a fit all the way to Washington over us ‘borrowing’ these artifacts. After we’ve had our fun with them, we will arrange for their find to be … well … found once more.”

  On the polished tiled floor of the vault and arranged in a semicircle around the stainless-steel vault were some of the most recognizable aircraft the world had ever known. There were five Grumman TBM torpedo bombers from the forties as clean and shiny as the day they rolled off the assembly line.

  “Are these aircraft what I think they are?” Everett said, knowing the old tale from not only his navy days, but from every program on the Bermuda Triangle he had ever seen.

  Niles stepped up to the computer terminal next to the large vault door and hit a small switch that activated Europa’s description of the contents of the vault. The sound came over the speaker buried into the rock ceiling far above their heads.

  “United States Navy Training Flight 19 out of U.S. Naval Air Station, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, lost on 5, December, 1945. The Operational Archives Branch, Naval History & Heritage Command, had ordered the Board of Investigation convened at NAS Miami to inquire into the loss of the five TBM Avengers in Flight 19 on a clear day. The flight and its training crews were never heard from again, and it was concluded by the Board of Investigation that the flight was lost due to pilot error. On June 3 of last year, the National Geographic Society commissioned a search of the area after underwater depressions had been found inside the original search area. The five TBM Avengers were located exactly where the search parties in 1945 had estimated the flight went down. The Avengers were found in 375 feet of water and were located inside of an immense underwater cavern. The aircraft were in pristine condition as they didn’t show any sign of salt water deterioration after sixty-five years in Florida’s hostile waters.”

  Niles reached out and shut off the presentation. He didn’t need it, as the event regarding the lost flight was a private indulgence that the director of the Event Group had taken a special interest in, even as far back as high school.

  “Ammunition, fuel, everything was intact. There was no deterioration of the aluminum used in the Avenger’s manufacture. The cockpits were dry and their canopies were closed. The aircraft show no sign of being ditched after running out of fuel. Well, we know now that they didn’t run out as each torpedo bomber had at least 300 gallons still in its tank. There were no signs of the pilots or their crews.”

  “How could these planes still be intact?” Everett asked as he ran his hand along the wing of one of the giant single-engine aircraft.

  “That’s why we have to study them,” Niles said as even the preoccupied Collins reached out and touched one of the dangling belts of fifty-caliber ammunition hanging from an exposed port in the left-side wing. The rounds on their belt looked to be new. There were no signs of water corrosion or crash damage anywhere on the dive Avengers. The tires on the landing gear were still pliable and filled with air.

  “It’s like they were snatched out of the sky and placed inside that seamount and the cave at its base. Then it seems they were protected by something in the water that we don’t understand … yet,” Virginia said as she too looked up at the first large Avenger sitting before her. “But we will get to the bottom of this, before the FBI gets into the full swing of investigating the disappearance of such a valuable military find.”

  “Amazing,” Sarah said gazing up at the magnificent aircraft every man, woman, and child would probably recognize thanks to the rampant Bermuda Triangle theories being pushed by the media. “The next time you two sneak out to go on vacation, please take me with you. This had to be as exciting as it gets.”

  Jack stopped touching the aircraft and turned and smiled at Sarah. She returned his smile. He was never surprised by Sarah’s take on the historical world. She was like a small schoolgirl giddy over everything the vault levels had to offer. He loved her for that. Her enthusiasm for her work was something that he himself was having a hard time coming to terms with. Collins once more pulled the printed sheet of paper from his pocket and again offered it to the director. Niles looked from Jack to his assistant director, Virginia.

  “I guess our toys didn’t do the trick we had hoped they would on the outlook of Colonel Collins here, Virginia,” Niles said taking the offered paper from Jack’s hand. He started reading aloud so everyone, including Everett and Sarah, could hear.

  “I, Colonel Jack Collins, U.S. Army, currently attached to Department 5656 of the National Archives, an entity of the federal government; hereby tender my resignation as colonel in the regular United States Army, effective immediately.”

  Niles Compton looked up from the resignation letter and then removed his glasses. “I think we can find a better way than this, Jack. I do know how to handle the p
resident; he’s bound to cool off. He doesn’t want to lose you or Sarah. You’ll be reprimanded officially for disobeying a direct order, but I’ll take the brunt of that and absorb anything the president orders our punishment to be. You knew we were headed for serious consequences over the raid when we decided to go.”

  Jack smiled and then placed his arm around Sarah who was absolutely speechless when she had heard Jack’s decision.

  “The letter stands. The president may feel better later,” he looked down into Sarah’s bruised and swollen eyes, “but I will not. Out of personal reasons I have placed members of my command and the people I am charged to protect in extreme jeopardy. I disobeyed a direct order from not only you Mister Director, but from the president of the United States. I find these facts to be unacceptable.” He reached down and kissed Sarah on the forehead, at the same time wiping a tear that had slid from her half-closed left eye. “Don’t worry, short stuff, I’ll be around for you, just not here. I’m not a very good officer anymore, but neither am I stupid.”

  Sarah tried to smile as Jack let her go. They all watched in silence as Collins stepped to the vault door. He turned and looked at the five aircraft once more. That was one thing he would have to get used to, and that was not being in on the world’s great archaeological finds. But he knew as long as they had people in the Group as dedicated as the four men and women inside this new vault, the Event Group would still do its job. Then his eyes went to Captain Everett. He stood silent as the moment was just too much to take in. Instead of saying goodbye, Everett saluted without looking the colonel in the eyes.

  “The navy doesn’t salute indoors, swabby. Only the army, of which I am no longer a part,” Jack said and then walked out amid the stunned silence inside of the vault.

  Sarah turned to face Niles Compton. “Of course, you won’t accept his resignation, right?”

  Niles handed the single sheet to Virginia and then looked at the lieutenant and replaced his glasses. He looked over at the much taller and stockier Everett who just stood inside the doorway. Sarah, to her shock, saw Everett shake his head negatively. Then he looked at Sarah.

  “Can’t you see it, Sarah, Jack’s had it. He can’t do his job here and protect those he’s supposed to protect with you in the field.”

  “Then I quit,” she said, starting to walk toward the vault door, but Everett placed his arm across the wide opening.

  “Jack won’t allow that and you know it. So don’t hit your head up against that particular wall; you’ll end up looking worse than you already do.”

  Niles stepped to the doorway and watched the form of Jack Collins head for the archway and the elevators beyond. He saw a man that wasn’t broken, just one that was afraid he couldn’t do his job any longer in the manner he was used to doing it. He turned and faced Everett and Virginia.

  “Virginia, I need those CDC people on station in the next ten hours to start the study on this chemical that was recovered from Perdition’s Gate. Captain Everett, I need extra security on the labs where the work will be done. Don’t take any chances. Our former Event Group members who now work for the CDC in Atlanta know their stuff. They have top security clearance and they’ll have the run of the sciences divisions while on site.”

  “Yes, sir,” Everett said, noticing how matter-of-factly the director had turned over the security department to him without so much as batting an eye. For the director, the Event Group had to go on, with or without Jack Collins safeguarding those seeking the truth of history.

  With that said, the director of the Event Group stepped from the vault area and left behind a stunned and seething second lieutenant — Sarah McIntire.

  * * *

  After years of training not much different from that received by Jack Collins during his years in the United States Special Forces community, Colonel Henri Farbeaux, regular French army, Ret., had developed the same sixth sense that Collins himself had. He knew when he was being observed, and even in sleep his brain reacted to the danger. The Frenchman forced his eyes open. At first he saw the dim light coming from the fixture just above the headboard. As he tried to focus his eyes, his brain detected from which direction his observer was sitting. He saw the face and then the finer details came into view. The young female doctor who had attended to him upon his arrival at the Event Group Complex, Gilliam, he thought her name was, was just finishing up wrapping his observer’s hand in white gauze.

  “So, you’ve come to see the drugged and caged animal, Colonel?” Henri said as the etched features of Jack Collins sharpened to a fine point.

  Collins nodded at Gilliam in thanks and then flexed his left hand. The good doctor said the through-and-through bullet wound was pretty much cleaned, but she admonished him for being so late coming in for treatment. There was still a major chance of infection. Jack listened to Denise Gilliam without really hearing her words as he continued to look at Farbeaux. His eyes went to the handcuff holding Henri’s right hand to the chrome bedpost.

  Collins looked up and nodded to the first of the two guards inside of the infirmary’s single-bed room. Jack tapped his wrist and the large army sergeant took a few steps toward the bed and unlocked the restraint holding Farbeaux’s hand to the rail. Henri turned his head and watched the guard move back into the shadows. He lifted his right hand and then rubbed his wrist with the left. His eyes focused on the small room in general and avoided Jack’s gaze altogether.

  “No, Henri, I didn’t come in here for that.”

  “So when may I expect a meeting with my attorney, and when is my arraignment?”

  Jack smiled as he sat in the chair next to Farbeaux’s bed. The Frenchman could see Collins was going on zero sleep. His face, although clean, hadn’t seen a razor since their return from Nuevo Laredo. His jumpsuit was clean and pressed and his wounds had now been tended, but there was still something wrong with Collins outside of him needing a shave.

  “I think our department will want to keep the court system out of this one, Colonel. We have no evidence to offer a U.S. court of law that would place you in any crime scene that we know of. Oh, there’s no doubt that the FBI will have some questions for you, but as for the Group, we have nothing we can charge you with.”

  Henri continued to rub his wrist where the handcuff had chafed his skin. He looked at Collins and then slowly reached for the control that raised the bed to a sitting position.

  “I seem to be quite sore,” he said as the whine of the bed’s motor ceased.

  “Two bullets, ten small pieces of shrapnel, three broken ribs, and a severe concussion. All in all you could qualify to be a part of my security team the way you get busted up like you do.”

  “If that is the prequalifier to becoming a true blue blooded American hero like you and your men, I think I’ll pass, Colonel.”

  Jack didn’t respond and remained silent as his eyes moved away from the Frenchman. After all of the years of chasing the Frenchman, Jack found he had little or no animosity toward the former commando. Collins had long suspected that Henri on several occasions had just been the bogeyman everyone believed him to be — a convenient one. Appearances, Jack knew, could be as deceiving as the Group sometimes found history to be.

  “Okay, so you didn’t come here to read the charges against me. You didn’t bring in flowers or a get-well card, so just what is it that brings you to my sickbed, Colonel?”

  Jack leaned back in his chair and then looked toward the darker recesses of the room. With a nod of Jack’s head Farbeaux watched the two large security men leave the room silently, closing the door behind them.

  “Oh, I see, shot while trying to escape?” Farbeaux joked.

  “With you, Colonel, I wish it were that easy. If anyone shoots you, it won’t be me.”

  Farbeaux saw the complex look on the face of his adversary — a man he hated for causing the death of his wife, Danielle, deep in the Amazon Basin four years before. But he was also a man he had begrudgingly come to respect.

  “Your wife, Danie
lle, tell me about her.”

  The question took Farbeaux by surprise, mainly because he had just thought of her himself. It was as if the American had read his mind, and he didn’t like that one little bit. Henri gathered his senses and then looked Collins over.

  “I loved her, Colonel, that’s all that needs to be said. She was the only woman, besides one other, that knew me for what…,” he looked away from Jack’s eyes, “knew me for something other than someone’s psyche evaluation in a foreign intelligence report.”

  “You said Danielle and one other?” Jack asked.

  Finally Henri turned and faced Collins. “What do you want of me, Colonel Collins?”

  “I guess I’m here to say I’m sorry. Sorry for your perception about my having anything to do with your wife’s death.”

  Henri stared at Jack for the longest time. He reached out and took a plastic cup from the rolling table at the bed’s side and drank water from a straw. He placed the glass back down and looked away toward the door of the room. Jack looked down at the bandage wrapping his left hand.

  “The thought of losing Sarah … if that had happened, I don’t think I would have reacted any differently than you have been toward me.”

  “There is one major difference here, Colonel,” Farbeaux said, finally turning angry eyes on Jack. “Sarah is breathing, while my wife, Danielle, is not.”

  “Yet you risked your life, your fortune, and at the very least your freedom to try and save the woman I love. Why is that Henri?” This time Jack’s eyes never left those of Farbeaux.

  “Some things in my life are not to be found in that thick little folder that Senator Lee started on me and my exploits many years ago. I too have my secrets, Colonel.”

  Jack nodded his head once and then stood. He removed a small notebook from his breast pocket and then with a pen jotted down some words. When he was done he tore the sheet from the pad and then paused.